


Lure

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the #HardAtWorkChallenge for @hannibalcreative on tumblr.<br/>A 1000 word short fic that takes place during Kō No Mono (Season 2, Episode 11).</p><p>I'm <a href="http://fragile-teacup.tumblr.com/">fragile-teacup</a> on Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lure

_‘I'm a good fisherman, Jack.'_  
_'You hook him, I'll land him.'_

Will's hard at work for Jack.

Everything in place for a righteous ending: Will the lure and Hannibal the prey. The hook is set; Randall and Freddie were choice bait. The line is taut; Will feels it straining and tightens his grip. 

_Time to play._

He debates. Hesitates, unsure of his next move. Landing is the tricky part and timing is everything - a misjudgement now and he'll lose his catch. 

In the end, Alana's early morning visit prods him into action. 

'I don't think Hannibal is good for you and I think your relationship is destructive.' 

So earnest, so worried. So damn fucking hypocritical.

'Hannibal's good enough for _you_.' 

The words spill out and he knows he sounds like a jealous rival. But the hypocrisy makes him _insane_. 

Shutting the door with a decisive click, he paces the living room, unsettled and frustrated. Runs a hand through his hair listening to the unnecessary revving of Alana's Hybrid. She's pissed too? _Good_. Maybe she'll have the sense to steer clear of Hannibal for a while but the thought is instantly dismissed. The seeds of doubt he's sown need time to grow. 

The idea of Hannibal and Alana, together, sets his teeth on edge and his stomach churning. He tells himself it's concern for Alana but he's not _that_ obtuse. Co-dependency works both ways.

To clear his head, Will takes the dogs for a run. Formulates a plan. Stalks back in to the house, swipes his phone from the couch and speed-dials Hannibal.

'Hello?' Hannibal answers before the second ring, brisk and business-like. A little intimidating. To his horror, Will goes blank. 

_What the hell was I going to say?_

'Hi. It's, er, it's me. How, er, are you?'

 _Seriously?_ He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he winces in embarrassment.

'Will.' Warmth suffuses Hannibal's voice. 'It's good to hear from you.'

As if they hadn't been together twice in the past thirty-six hours: dinner then Margot's summons.

Shies away from thoughts of the latter. Can't deal.

'I wanted to thank you again for dinner. It was a unique experience.' 

_Rare._  
_Debauched._

'I greatly admired your willingness to try new things.' 

'Oh, I've been doing a lot of that lately,' Will drawls, shaking his head in reluctant amusement. He can _feel_ Hannibal's answering smile across the connection.

Clears his throat. 'I'd like to return the favour.' Pauses. 'Dinner at my place tomorrow?'

'There is nothing I would like more.' Quiet sincerity that squeezes Will's already battered heart.

Running through a mental list of Hannibal's crimes helps.

'Dare one ask what's on the menu?' 

'Trout. I'll go out in the morning. They're quite lively now it's getting warmer.'

'Fresh trout sounds delightful.'

'Let me warn you, the presentation will be rustic at best,' Will cautions. 

His reward is a deep, rich chuckle which resonates down the phone line. 

'There is unique charm in simplicity. A meal stripped to its essentials reveals much about its creator.' 

Shades of a previous conversation...

***

'Are you busy tomorrow evening?'

'Hm. Other than my grand plan of walking the dogs and grading papers, I don't have any pressing engagements.' Will tries and fails to hold back the snark but at least it's lacking in bite.

Hannibal blithely ignores it anyway.

'Excellent. Then I would like to invite you back to my house.'

'Another dinner? So soon?'

Will's heart sinks. _Jesus. Who this time?_ But Hannibal must pick up on his reserve, for reassurance comes swiftly.

'I recently acquired the ingredients for a dish that has, alas, fallen out of favour in the culinary world, though it holds a special place in my heart. I would very much like to share it with you.'

 _Okay, that doesn't sound like people._

Safe enough to accept and insinuate himself further into Hannibal's life. Stubbornly ignores the voice in his head that hisses out a warning about getting too close, too entangled, too comfortable...

Blinds drawn, lamplight creates a soft focus lens through which Will watches and waits. He's dressed with care, confident that Hannibal will appreciate the flattering cut of his grey wool jacket, the complementary blue button up. In Hannibal's world, aesthetics hold sway over most other considerations. 

Hard to deny the beauty of the man who appears in the doorway, moves with grace through the room, proud features delineated in the flickering glow of the flaming dish he carries before him.

_What is this about, Hannibal?_

_An offering?_

The sweetly simple strains of an aria permeate an atmosphere suddenly clogged with tension.

In the centre of the table, subdued radiance - a circle of flames licking and dancing, enshrouding host and guest. Within the shallow cocotte, two plump, golden ovals. 

'Among gourmands, the ortolan bunting is considered a rare but debauched delicacy.'

Will's gaze, focused on the tiny conflagration, flicks to Hannibal's face at these words.

_Courtship?_

They tease back and forth, and, god, _this_ is when Will feels truly alive. _This_ is what he mourned the loss of, entombed within the BSHCI - connection to the only other person who could ever understand him.

The unbearable intimacy of sharing a dish so deliciously forbidden. Locked together in symbolic consummation. 

_Foreplay._

Will closes his eyes, imagining. Hannibal's lips. His own. How they would fit. _Beautifully._ How Hannibal would taste and the feel of his tongue rasping against Will's. _Exquisite._ Comes back to himself shaken, aroused, enraptured.

Hannibal talks of Will's radiance, so proud. And for one glittering moment, Will forgets pretence and _believes_ , breathing affection across the table. But cruel reality presses back in and his stomach drops. 

_Remember?_

_'You have to create a reality where only you and the fish exist, where your lure becomes what he wants most, despite everything he knows.'_

Back to business.

***

'Until tomorrow, then.'

'Yeah. Tomorrow.'

Will's hard at work pretending.

That this isn't going to end in blood and tears.  
That he wants it to end at all.


End file.
